We All Fall Down
by WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: "Sometimes, and especially in the early days, Castiel would flit to the devoid places of Heaven that Lucifer had so loved and just fly, and he would wonder why Lucifer hadn't even tried to convert him". Castiel was once Lucifer's favorite. Now, with the apocalypse beginning and Heaven in chaos, Castiel starts to Doubt again. AU after 'Lucifer Rising'.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer; I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters, ideas, concepts, or other materials within.**

**Warnings for blasphemy and inaccurate biblical accounts; may later be swearing, violence, minor character death, and possibly genocide and/or torture.**

**Will be much more of other characters in later chapters. Haven't decided yet how long this will be.**

* * *

**We All Fall Down**

* * *

When Lucifer was released from the Cage, the first thing he did was search for his Brothers.

Not those in Heaven, you must understand. You see, the Fallen angels are those under his domain. Lucifer could sense some of them immediately - a female angel, Anna, who'd willingly given up her Grace but then regained her memory; a male Fallen, anonymous and living a quiet and thoroughly disgusting _human _life in Philadelphia. Lucifer disdained both of them, and dismissed them from his thoughts.

But the third...

The third was different; still fully angel but currently _rebelling - _and not just Doubting and _leaving_ Heaven, but full-on _disobeying _and working against them; in fact, just as Lucifer rose he felt the angel dying, his Grace being snuffed out by Raphael, and the devil's reaction was automatic.

In the space of a second and a flap of galaxy-spanning wings Lucifer was by the young angel's side, and Raphael reared away - too late. A quick thrust of his old blade, and Lucifer smiled with sorrow and triumph mixed as the lesser archangel was erased from existence.

He turned.

The other angel was here, his true brother, a _malakhim _who had fully defied Heaven and was now watching Lucifer, frozen with some undefinable emotion. Standing right behind the angel was a prophet.

_That explains Raphael, _Lucifer thought. The mortal stank of alcohol and his soul was flaring bright with fear and panic and _horror, _and Lucifer didn't spare him another thought. Instead he moved to the panting angel's side. "My Brother - are you well?"

But the angel cringed from his touch, backing away. Lucifer smiled reassuringly, but it only seemed to disconcert his brother further. "I will not harm you," he promised. It took a moment to comprehend that the words were somewhat at odds with the corpse and wingprints splayed next to him. But what was to be done about that? "Truly, Little Brother; the Fallen are mine to protect. Did he hurt you?"

The angel was wide-eyed still, but began shaking his head. "No. No. I am not Fallen."

"You are. I can sense it..." But Lucifer frowned now. The angel's Grace was weak, but there was still the most tenuous of connections to Heaven. Likely they'd been trying to track this poor angel to smite, Lucifer thought, scorning his kin for the cruelty. "Here."

And, before the younger angel could stop him, Lucifer stepped forward and touched two fingers to the vessel's head.

The young angel _screamed, _the snap and flare of Grace making the room glow for a brief instant in the darkness. And as the devil smiled, he watched the shaken angel slowly uncurl his posture, shock radiating outward with the Grace-ripples of his newfound strength.

"What is your name, Brother?"

The angel didn't seem to hear him. "What did you do?" he asked, hoarsely. The vessel's blue eyes stared at Lucifer with something like horror.

"Healed you. You are Fallen now; you share the powers given to me."

The angel turned away.

"Your name, Little Brother?"

"...Castiel. I am... Castiel."

And Lucifer stared.

* * *

Castiel had always been Lucifer's favorite Brother.

Well, no; that wasn't quite true. First there had been Michael, the glorious archangel closest to him in power. In the earliest days of Creation they had winged through Heaven and the Void seeing to Father's work together. The archangels were all close, but their comraderie had been something special. As the angelic Host swelled it became accepted that one would not be seen without the other winging close behind.

But before Father created humans, he created something stronger and more fearsome; Leviathon, huge, fearsome creatures of shadow and ravenous hunger. They were an experiment gone wrong, it was said. They ravaged the virgin Earth, snuffing out the lives of the earliest and most beautiful of Father's creatures. The glory of creation was marred by their existence, and forestalled, so Father ordered the angels - his soldiers - to collect them all so he could banish them from Earth and Heaven alike.

The fight was bloody and terrible, each side committing cruel and sadistic acts; the Leviathon from hunger and spite, the angels in angry vengeance, furious that any of Father's children should turn from his purpose and design. In this great conflict many angels were wounded or stricken from existence, but one in particular caught his eye.

This angel was one of the newest - so new and fantastically innocent that, despite having killed and seen terrible carnage, his arching wings were still the shade of purest white that usually only blessed new angels at the very instant of their creation; within seconds an angel's great Knowledge would taint their Grace, so that all wings were eggshell white at best.

(Lucifer's himself were black as pitch, but no one really questioned this too much back then).

So looking at those brilliant wings, Lucifer was irrationally dismayed when the angel was wounded, plummeting to the ground of Earth while Grace fled his Being. On a whim Lucifer leapt forward, gathered up the spilling form of his Brother, and fled.

He went to Heaven, but Raphael was tending to the wounded form of Gabriel and scorned disruptions. To Lucifer's shock, he watched two _malakhim - _lesser order angels like the one he brought - flare and die while they waited for assistance. Anxious, he could not bear to stay, so again he gathered up the angel and flew, flew, flew to a far corner of Heaven that was empty and untainted, so each wingbeat rippled into a silent void.

Lucifer was no healer. He had in the past watched Raphael work with the Grace of other angels, taking their lifeforce and spreading it thinly to cover the wounded parts and fill in old injuries, urging it to replenish and heal that mysterious force that gave power to God's immortal children. Lucifer tried to use that method, clumsily, but Grace wept from the Brother before him unchecked, and he began to panic. So he tried something new.

He reached _inside, _touching the mighty store of Grace within himself, and ripped out a piece. The pain was immense, blinding, and a screeching, sour chord struck the still silence about them - a sound angry and dismayed and _wrong. _The act screamed of perversion, but Lucifer could not allow this bright Brother to die, and so he thrust that piece of himself into the Brother.

And then they were both screaming, with ringing voices that made the hollow places of Heaven throb, but it didn't matter; Lucifer stretched the bit of his Grace in this angel to cover the wounds, and suddenly he was healed, and looking at Lucifer with something like awe.

Lucifer could think of nothing to say, except, "Who are you, Brother?"

"...I am Castiel."

And he was. And Lucifer looked again, and saw that the angel's pure white wings were now a sooty, speckled gray - darker than any in Heaven save Lucifer's own.

To Lucifer, they were still the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

* * *

Lucifer stared at his Brother, and opened his eyes to Castiel's true form. He breathed in, sharply.

Castiel had changed greatly over the millenia - how could he have not? - but his wings were the most extraordinary. At their first meeting Castiel's wings had been the snowy white of human lore; then Lucifer's own assistance had turned them gray. And now they were dark, scorched things, burnt with Hellfire, and they were exactly the shade of Lucifer's own.

* * *

From the day of his healing Castiel became Lucifer's new shadow, and when black wings were seen in Heaven gray could be expected to follow. Their brethren remarked on this strange favor, and Castiel's new form, and so Castiel was given sudden respect - for was not the regard of the first archangel a sign of something great?

Lucifer himself was dotingly fond of the younger angel, whom he found had been created just several Earth-days prior to the Leviathon attack. Though all angels had certain inherent knowledge they did not know everything, and Lucifer decided he would be the most appropriate mentor for this one. As an archangel his word was law, and so instead of being assigned to a normal unit it was understood that he was to join the company Lucifer commanded. Instead, however, Lucifer trained him privately, and Castiel became the first angel's protege.

It must be understood that while Lucifer had much love for his Father in those days, the situation in which he found Castiel was ever fresh in his mind. Some days he would look at Castiel with fondness and thank Father for giving him the chance to save this small treasure; other days he was troubled. Many angels had died during the same battle; and yet, God had created the Leviathon. God had created the Leviathon, flawed creatures who had needed to be collected and locked away - yet, was not God Ineffable? So how could his design ever be flawed? Lucifer tried to reconcile the two ideas - and could not.

That was Lucifer's first Doubt.

* * *

Castiel had Fallen.

And he had done it... without Lucifer.

_My protege, indeed, _Lucifer thought ludicrously. "My Castiel," he managed, at last. "It is... good to see you well."

Then, recalling how he had found the _malakhim, _Lucifer glanced down at Raphael's corpse with cold eyes. "Explain to me - everything."

Castiel's wings twitched. "I - I cannot - "

"Were you helping the demons free me? That was dangerous, Little Brother; I would not have had you risk yourself." Despite himself, Lucifer's vessel was smiling. "But - I am glad you did. I have - missed you."

An understatement.

* * *

One day, Castiel tried to teach poetry to fish.

It made Lucifer laugh to watch - the mountainous true form of his Brother, leaning over tiny fish and holding them in place with Grace as he tried in vain to make them speak, taking care to avoid stepping on the minute things - and not always succeeding. Lucifer wasn't sure where he'd gotten the idea - probably Gabriel - but Castiel seemed increasingly perplexed at his failure, though never upset. Finally, when the novelty began to wear off (that is, after several years), Lucifer went up to him.

"They cannot learn poetry, Castiel. It is not in their making to be capable of speech or thought. Poetry is the province of angels only."

"Why?"

"Because that is how God created us. Each creature has its own purpose, and to fish poetry is irrelevant."

"How can fish fashion poems to praise the Lord, then?"

"They do not need to."

"They don't?"

"No." Lucifer looked at the poor fish as it struggled to flee from the angel. "Some creatures were not made to worship, Little Brother - and Father doesn't expect them to."

* * *

Lucifer's hand reached out to touch Castiel's arm - and met only air.

Castiel had fluttered to the back of the room, eyes wide. "_No, _Lucifer," he croaked.

Lucifer hand stilled, fell. He appraised the young angel in front of him. His eyes flickered, pointedly, to the corpse on the ground. "What are you denying, Brother?" The devil asked sadly.

Castiel's wings fluttered, now as though in anxiety. "Lucifer... I can not allow this."

"This?"

"The apocalypse. The fight between you and Michael." Castiel's eyes implored him. "Please, Brother, stop the apocalypse."

And Lucifer started to laugh.

There were many things he'd expected upon leaving the Cage; being _asked _to quit the apocalypse had never quite occurred to him.

Lucifer didn't think the request even dignified a response. "Please, my Castiel, join me. We can rule the new world together. Father is gone; there is nothing to hold you here..." he paused, considering. "...Is there?"

"To the angels I am a traitor," Castiel said, very quietly, and Lucifer felt strangely _relieved. _"But there are... humans."

"Humanity?"

"Yes. And... two in particular, whom I have befriended."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, and considered this. "That is - beneath you, Castiel, really. But, if you're fond of your pets, I could allow you to keep them." That seemed a generous offer, wasn't it?

"One is your perfect vessel. The other is Michael's."

"...Ah." Well. "I don't suppose I could convince you to just bring me to them?"

"No."

"You realize this vessel will not hold me long?"

The vessel he'd seized for this excursion was a lonely man the demons had been harassing for awhile; a few words from the Cage and the man had been willing and waiting for Lucifer's arrival. But even now the vessel's skin _itched. _Something burned and writhed under him, in him, and every flare of Grace stripped away a little more flesh, a little more vitality. Any large demonstrations of power would destroy the vessel entirely, and even were Lucifer to entirely forsake his powers his mere presence would sear away the meat-suit. He _needed _his Perfect Vessel for the final battle.

And now Castiel - beloved Castiel, the little angel he'd saved and befriended, the Fallen angel who caught himself half-way - was trying to stop him.

"I thought you, of all the Host, might understand," said Lucifer. "...To find that you do not..."

He didn't know precisely what he meant to say, but with a flutter of wings Castiel had fled; and he was silent.

_You, of all the Host..._

* * *

Michael was busy with management of Earth and the search for the last of the Leviathon, so Lucifer was left more and more to Castiel. Sometimes when the young angel was trying to train Lucifer would appear, and with nothing more than "Come, Brother!" would be dragging the dutiful _malakhim_ to some far corner of creation. Castiel, after all, couldn't deny his idol anything.

So Lucifer would take him to some far nebula, and say, "Look how brief and beautiful this is, Brother," and they would watch and admire the sight in patience for a few millenia. Then Lucifer would tug his Brother's wings again, with an eager childishness, and together they would flit to watch the formation of a star, a galaxy, a world.

"Father's creations are all so different," Castiel said once.

"But all unique and beautiful," Lucifer told him, and Castiel could not argue.

Once Lucifer brought Castiel to Earth, at the edge of a very normal beach. While all of Father's creations had a certain innate beauty, the site was nothing so extraordinary as Lucifer usually bothered sharing, and Castiel was puzzled. Lucifer urged him to look closer.

"I can find nothing of great note," said Castiel. "What do you want me to see?"

"Look - there, coming from the water."

Castiel watched, brow furrowed. "It is a fish."

"Yes." Lucifer said. The tiny thing heaved itself onto land, laboriously - pushed itself onto a land largely devoid of any animal life.

"Like any other fish," Castiel continued.

"No - Not at all. It's special. Don't step on that fish, Castiel; God has big plans for that fish."

So they watched that fish, and its descendents, and were both awed by the majesty of Father's plan as the land was slowly populated.

Lucifer loved the world, and he loved the space and the stars and all of Heaven, from where the angels flew to the far quiet corners that God had not yet given a purpose. He loved Castiel, and he loved the rest of his brethren and the Lord his Father. But somehow it was not enough.

Lucifer and Castiel both found great pleasure on their excursions, and in the beauty of all things, so the archangel tried to be content; but he was not.

* * *

Lucifer decided to see how the world had changed, so he began the official start of the apocalypse with a little tour. And he was, in short, horrified.

Many of the creatures that had populated the Earth had been wiped out long ago - and a startling number had been obliterated at the hands of the human parasites. Others were caged for human amusement or dwindling for human convenience. The air was polluted and grotesque, the waters murky and poisoned, the land covered in waste and trash - that of it which had not been pounded flat by Man and bedecked with wood, metal, or plastic facilities of some sort. The natural majesty of Father's greatest creation was in ruin, and no one seemed to care.

If he paused to strike down a few CEOs of particularly dirty companies, well, he was the devil, now wasn't he?

* * *

Despite Lucifer's worry, he still ultimately had faith in his father. He did his best to allow his underlings to know this, and kept any sign of seditious thought carefully hidden from Castiel.

"See what Father has wrought!" Lucifer once told him, and he took Castiel down to Earth to view the eruption of the first volcano.

The great fires and explosion of lava made Castiel wonderous; but then the angel looked about, and asked, "But what of the other creatures? Look."

A deer had become panicked, surrounded by molten earth on every side as more rushed down the mountain slope. In seconds the poor creature was forced to try to bound over the deadly stream, and fell to its death-throes as a screeching ball of flame.

"That looked painful," was all Castiel said.

Lucifer spoke immediately, confidently. "The beauty of Father's work is in its self-sufficiency. The matter that makes up that dead creature will return to the Earth, and in time will feed new plants; and those plants will feed new animals, which will again return to the Earth. Mortal life is fleeting, but never without meaning."

And Castiel nodded, accepting this with the easy faith of a true and good angel. But Lucifer himself did not forget that day, and his mind was long troubled with images of flame and pain and death.

* * *

Lucifer might, in time, have been able to forgive and forget the matter of the Leviathon. He might have reconciled himself with the pain of the lesser creatures on Earth and the apparent callous hand of his Father. He might have moved on from the pain of the Host that followed when his Brothers died, and he might have developed a love and deep-rooted faith in his Father that would never again be swayed. This might have happened, but did not, because before Lucifer could recover from his troubling thoughts Father gathered the four archangels and told them of a new creation; a species that would be able to think and speak and _know, _similar but lesser to their own fashion; and they would be mortal, but Father... Father commanded his angels to _bow _to them.

Lucifer was mortified. Here was Father, asking them to submit to an unknown race lesser than themselves - not even giving time for the angels to end their mourning for those lost to the ill-fated Leviathon, Father's last 'experiment'. He would not, could not, comply; he knew this down to his core, an indisputable thing, just _I cannot obey._

He tried to be reasonable, really. He looked at Father, and he said, "No."

The other archangels gaped at him, frozen. Father was silent a moment. "This is a command, my son," he spoke at last.

Lucifer found himself mute with terror, terror incited by his own unheard-of blasphemy, by the mutiny that set the precedent for every rebellion in history.

But all he could say was, "No."

In later years Lucifer would be known as the whisperer of sin, protrayed as a dark, sly, eloquent creature who could seduce others to darkness with twisting words and half-promises and damning logic. Yet at the Beginning he was the first to Rebel, and he was afraid, and all he could say was _"No."_

And Father was silent again. Sometimes, decades and centuries and millenia after, Lucifer would wonder if he might have swayed Father with a better argument; but then he would think, _the Ineffable do not need to be told of flaws in their plans, so would he not still be fallible? _So he would dismiss the thought, and for a time push back the chasm of guilt and all-consuming _regret _for just a while longer.

But that was later, and now was still the Beginning, so when God and the three angels kept staring he just said "NO."

The other three archangels were banished from their company, thrust away rudely by God back into the main places of Heaven. And God, full of wrath, considered his terrified first-child, and finally, mercifully; "I know what will make you see reason. I will send you to my mortal children, and you will watch them and understand their purpose.

"You may return when you have learned all there is to know of them."

So Lucifer was forced to Eden, a beautiful Paradise. And what he saw did not change his mind in the least.

Here were dumb, foolish creatures who did not even respect the honor that Father afforded them. They did not comprehend their own gifts, and that angered him. These were imperfect beings too - not as savage as the Leviathon, not yet, but he could not bow to them. But how to make Father see?

Father had given them but one command; _do not eat the apple from the Tree of Knowledge._

And was not the ease with which he deceived Eve enough to prove their unworthiness? So feeling to have learned all he could Lucifer returned to Heaven, and he called together his own garrison.

He was never quite sure why... But Lucifer did not call forth Castiel.

And this, you see, was where his reputation came from. Lucifer spoke to the most loyal Brothers of his thoughts, urging them to understand that his stance was not for anarchy but made from love - love for them, for their other Brothers, for God himself. Father was not perfect, was not omnipotent, and while he was great and wonderful and deserving of love and loyalty he was also _flawed _and must be made to see this.

They listened, his loyal garrison, because he had commanded it; but there was horror in the faces of many, shock in all. But he wove Grace and Music and the power of Belief in his voice, and before his eyes he saw off-white wings wilt and darken to gray as agreement began to form. Before long over half his people were thus tainted, and Lucifer was content, for was this not a force large enough to prove his thoughts well-founded? Surely Father must listen to reason now.

And just as Lucifer decided it was time to confront Father, he felt it.

A terrible force _sucked _his Grace, replacing it with something so similar but _tainted, _disconnected - and Lucifer looked at those angels in his ranks with whitish wings, and to his shock found that they were now strangers to him. He heard as if from a great distance the words of his Father, and knew somehow that he was not hearing God by the angelic connection, but because Father was simply allowing him to hear.

_"The Star of the Morning has turned against me," _Father thundered, _"And he has seduced others to rebellion; all troops are to expel them from the kingdom of Heaven, and cast them down to the dark place beneath the Earth that I have fashioned as their prison."_

And there was War.

* * *

The demons called out to him in ecstasy from across the world, more knowleadgeble satanic witches offering sacrifices and invocations. Their voices reverberated in his mind and ears as he flew, an ugly cacophony of sounds that gave him no joy. But the words fueled his power, so he did nothing to stop them, though his hate grew.

Heaven was in chaos, the lesser-demons came and told him, in glee. Raphael had been the undisputed leader in Heaven. Now, Raphael was dead; Gabriel was dead; Michael could not be found. The angel's hierarchy had been thrown into chaos.

Lucifer hadn't been aware of Gabriel's death, or Michael's long absence. He had waited for years for the apocalypse to occur, as fated, but somehow this whole matter lacked the glory and triumph he had anticipated.

* * *

They fell from Heaven like a thousand great stars, streaking down in burning paths of Light and Grace and Grief. Lucifer's followers allowed themselves to be struck down, dismayed and bewildered by their new status, and though they were Fallen they were still accustomed to following Orders. But Lucifer would not meekly submit. He _fought _his fellow angels, in a way no angel had ever fought except against the Leviathon, and his enemies were shocked. Lucifer slew them, his once-siblings, and cries rippled throughout all of creation as angels were snuffed from existence. Dozens fell before the Host began to truly fight back, and in his unfaltering strength Lucifer cast down hundreds more. When the numbers grew too great he took a brief reprieve, and in that time he chained Death, and for good measure he fashioned beings of War and Famine and Pestilence to tend to the humans whilst he fought off the Host.

Then, finally, Michael could stand the slaughter no longer. He took up his flaming sword with much grief and drove Lucifer down, down, down, into the new Pit at the center of the Earth. Lucifer himself was the last of his kin to Fall, locked away from his stricken Fallen brethren in a tiny Cage, forced to whisper and sooth those bewildered followers from a far-off place. The world was a burning darkness, and this new place - this Hell - tainted their Grace and Being and drove them to madness. They became something new, something terrible, and when Lucifer thought he could no longer bear their agony he further influenced the change, until his followers were all but immune to pain and agony, were pleased by it, lusted for it. Those were the first demons, and as each new lord of Hell was created, the newly named devil retreated to a far corner of his Cage and wept, because he knew he could never teach _himself _to forget. For the first time since Creation, Lucifer was truly alone.

* * *

"Where are my lords of Hell?" Lucifer demanded finally, tired by the quabbling of the lesser demons, the demons who had been warped from human souls. The Detroit factory housed dozens of demons eager to speak with him. "Why have they not greeted me?" The lords had been long silent, and had stopped even _trying_ to speak to him in the Cage centuries ago.

There was an awkard pause. "My father," one demon approached, timidly. "They are all long dead - slain by the archangels Raphael and Gabriel."

Lucifer killed the messenger, and the other demons fled from his wrath. But Lucifer was just tired, and he slumped in his seat. Strangely, the loss of his perverted, agonized once-brethren was not on his mind; instead his thoughts went to Castiel.

* * *

Castiel could not return to Heaven, but he flew about the Earth, watching the milling people below and wondering.

The apocalypse had officially begun; surely now it could not be stopped? But even Chuck had admitted that Castiel and the Winchesters had abandoned the expected path - and didn't that imply that the end was not inevitable?

_Mutiny, _a voice whispered. _Sedition and rebellion._

But then, why did it still bother him to go against Heaven? He was, after all, Fallen.

The thought made his wings jerk; snapping them back, he plummeted down, only to flare out his feathers to halt in Europe.

He entered the Sistine Chapel invisibly, watching the human tourists - some pious, some very much _not. _Castiel sighed.

Castiel looked up at the famous muraled ceiling, at the crude, human depiction of Heaven. Most images were of humans, but his mighty brethren were there too, depicted as half-baby figures with harps and lyres, smiling demurely upon clouds. If Raphael had ever bothered to look at this place he would have likely struck it down in fury.

_Raphael._

Castiel clenched his eyes shut. Dead, dead, dead - all because of him. Now only Michael and Lucifer* remained of the archangels. Michael was gone, hidden, grieving, and Lucifer... Lucifer was back. Lucifer wanted Castiel to join him.

Castiel stared up at the depiction of God - here shown in human form, though only the archangels had ever seen God, and supposedly he was entirely indescribable in mortal terms. Dozens of inaccurate drawings of much-twisted biblical stories adorned the walls.

"Isn't it wonderful, what the artist made in respect to God?" Castiel heard a pious woman ask her child cheerfully. Castiel knew for a fact that Michelangelo had been a drunk and an atheist and was rotting somewhere in Hell, and he couldn't bear the hypocrisy any longer. He turned and flew away, far away, but he could not escape his own thoughts.

* * *

After Lucifer Fell, Castiel became a pariah.

Everyone knew that Castiel had been special in the devil's eyes - and everyone knew that Castiel retained a part of the Morninstar's Grace. His wings were the darkest in Heaven now, and some wondered if Castiel would not take much the same path as the elder of the two.

But to all accounts Castiel was the picture of piety. He prayed and sang and gave every due obeisance to Father, strictly, without exception. He joined a new unit and was the perfect soldier, following orders to the letter - never questioning, never _doubting. _Those who worked with him praised his diligence and committment to duty, and could find no fault. Over the centuries, slowly, suspicion waned, and eventually the close relationship between a certain _malakhim _and the Prince of Air was largely forgotten.

Castiel never forgot.

Castiel wondered many things. He wondered what had spurred Lucifer's rebellion, what he had been thinking; he wondered how Lucifer could stomach killing their brethren, he who had loved so fiercely; he wondered how Lucifer thought for an instant that he could succeed defying Father.

Sometimes, and especially in the early days, Castiel would flit to the devoid places of Heaven that Lucifer had so loved and just fly, and he would wonder why Lucifer hadn't even _tried _to convert him, too.

* * *

***Remember that Castiel isn't aware yet that Gabriel is alive.**


	2. Forgive Me, Father, For I Am Tempted

**(To MayEve - I slipped a certain reference in just for you. And your brother, ha.)**

**(Also; the number 666 just popped up on my browser toolbar. As I work on my Lucifer-themed fanfiction. Pretty sure it wasn't there before. Um. Is it weird for me to be a little alarmed?)**

**Note: So, I've realized that Lucifer isn't actually the firstborn! But, he always has been in my headcanon, sooo... Let's just pretend, okay?**

* * *

**Forgive Me, Father, For I Know Temptation...**

* * *

There's a certain tension tangible between Sam and Dean. This is, to be fair, somewhat expected, considering that Sam's rashness and lack of trust has sort of led to the apocalypse. Which... Awkward.

But, at the same time - well, the _apocalypse. _Let bygones be bygones - they don't have the _time _to get angry and start throwing accusations.

After all, Lucifer has risen - and the end is coming.

* * *

After flying around the earth awhile, Castiel seeks out some Satanic followers.

Not members of the Church of Satan, who follow a philosophy of self-indulgence in the carnal world and only call themselves 'satanic' to shock churchgoers, who don't _actually_ think the devil is real, but the blood-thirsty fanatics - blackrobed figures who steal away in the middle of night to meet in secret locations with musty tomes of demonic worship, those who give offerings and information to the darker supernatural forces of the world. Those who, even knowing that they will suffer in Hell for eternity, glory in the knowledge. There are, unfortunately, more of them then one might expect.

He watches them from aloft, staring through the top of the abandoned warehouse in which they're gathered. Castiel watches the grim congregation slaughter a lamb, cursing his father's name and praising Lucifer's in a rolling, harsh language of worship that makes his skin prickle uneasily. It's a disturbing sight, and he tries not to understand why his welling sense of disgust makes him relieved.

* * *

"Goddammit, Chuck, just spit it out!"

"You're not going to like it," the prophet moans uneasily. He's standing behind a toppled couch, wary and tense, as though expecting a need to make a sudden run. Considering Dean's own aggressive stance, it might not be an unwarranted fear.

"Like that's any surprise," Dean says. "It's the fucking apocalypse, how much more screwed over can we get? Now what the hell happened to Cas!"

"Lucifer came here," Chuck blurts.

"..._What?"_

"He killed Raphael." The prophet wrings his hands together, jumping around the couch and hurrying to the next room, words tumbling out now that he's decided to speak. "Here - " He winces, and the Winchesters, following him, stop dead upon seeing the spread-eagled form of Raphael with two ashen wingprints arched around him. "Raphael tried to explode Castiel," Chuck explains, bouncing anxiously. "I mean, he _was _exploding him_, _and Castiel was choking and flailing and glowing all weird and everything was shaking, and then Lucifer flew in from freaking _nowhere _and just stabbed him - Raphael, not Castiel, I mean, Castiel is fine I think, probably, but then Lucifer tried to get Castiel to _join _him because he's Fallen, Castiel, not - well, both of them - and I mean _Fallen-_fallen and not just _Fallen, _because Lucifer touched him - not like that! - and did something so he's not a proper angel now, but Castiel said he wouldn't join and then ran - flew - when Lucifer kept trying to convince him and I think he's okay but I'm not really sure and he looked _freaked."_

Dean stares at him. "..._What?"_

Throwing up his hands, Chuck grabs a few papers and tosses them at Dean. The hunter fumbles for them, startled.

"Read it!" Chuck snaps. "And then tell me what the _hell _I do with a dead angel!" He turns and stomps upstairs, a desperate figure in green bathrobes, and grabs a bottle of whiskey for good measure on his way.

"What is it?" Sam asks.

"Chuck's notes on day zero," says Dean absently. His mouth drops open slightly. "Fuck, he wasn't kidding - Lucifer tried to turn Cas. The hell? Did he think that would work?"

"Was he mad?" Sam asks. Dean glances at him. "When Cas said no," Sam clarifies. Because, well, of course Castiel said no.

Dean frowns. "Doesn't look like it - weird. But if he can kill _Raphael _that easy..."

"Cas wouldn't stand a chance," Sam agrees.

"We need to find him."

* * *

Castiel still remembers the fight.

It is always _the _fight, in his mind. The fateful encounter with the Leviathon, just days after his making, where a lucky slash wounded him full-on. He remembers laying in the middle of a battlefield, Grace and ravenous Hunger swirling about him in a frantic melee, Brothers leaping over him unfazed to charge the furious foe. Castiel had fully expected to die. He was not dismayed; death must come to everything eventually, even angels, but he trusted that Father had some secret purpose for them.

So he listened to the screams and shouts and roars around him, watched the brilliant clashing of light and ether, and felt his Grace slipping from him at a steady pace. And then, with a brilliance that outshone even Michael, He arrived.

Lucifer was not called Morninstar without reason. Even in the day his bright glow was undeniable, and the angelic ranks parted for him with barely a ripple. And then he was crouching by Castiel's side, looking right at him, and raised him up.

And Castiel was carried to Heaven, faster than he could have ever dreamed of flying. There was Raphael, but the archangel was busy - and, again, he expected to die. It was odd enough for an archangel to leave battle for one _malakhim; _Castiel could hardly expect more.

And then he was surprised anew, because Lucifer was winging past Raphael into the cold places of Heaven. Lucifer set him down. The archangel's attempts to heal Castiel were clumsy, ineffectual, and Castiel sighed.

As he thought. He _would _die. Some things, he supposed, were just inevitable.

And then -

He couldn't process it at first through the unbearable _agony. _Something was being forced in him, through him, clutching at his Grace and _merging _with it, eeling in like some sickly virus - except, the virus was strong and brilliant and _beautiful, _and in seconds it was as though there had never been any wounds at all.

Lucifer had saved him, and blessed mere Castiel with a part of his own Grace, a selfless act of love and duty and Brotherhood, and Castiel vowed that day that he would be Lucifer's forever.

* * *

The devil has dismissed his underlings. Sunlight casts murky shadows over the dusty floor, evening light piercing the patched-over windows, and Lucifer watches them deepen and recede with lazy disinterest. There are things he could be doing - people to torture, nations to dominate, but he is, after all, the originator of sin, so he expects that a little Sloth is a requisite every now and again.

But then, so is indulgence, and Lucifer is bored. He stretches his wings, pausing to admire the shadowy shift of feathers - Pride, also expected - and seconds later the warehouse is empty and silent, and perfectly mundane.

Moments later a nondescript man with ruffled, tawny hair, blood-splattered shoes, and a vaguely dangerous smile looks around himself and laughs. The milling crowd of chattering humans pays him no mind.

"Los Angeles," he murmurs. "City of Angels, and one of the top-sinning cities in this entire infernal country. This will be fun."

_And a good distraction._

* * *

Lucifer used to be the angel of music.

Humans seem to have largely forgotten this fact, but all angels were created with a purpose. Did they think he had been _created _to rebel?

Not so. Lucifer had led the Heavenly Choir. They sang and fashioned the first poems of creation, and their clever thoughts conceived the first instruments and gifted humans with those ideas. Sometimes Lucifer toyed with the idea of telling celloists that they were playing the devil's instrument, and flutists that of the first demon, and the thought made him laugh.

Michael, though ever respectful of his Brother, had little interest in music. "I do not doubt Father's wisdom," Michael once told him, "But I am somewhat at a loss to understand why he gave the first archangel, you, a gift of music - of indulgence. It hardly seems the domain of a commander."

"It is not an indulgence." And it wasn't - though it became one, later, when Lucifer neared madness in the overwhelming isolation of the Cage. "In the Choir we praise the glory of our Father's work, and in that praise we give it new meaning. And when Father's more brief creations fade from the living world, we keep their memory in song. Is it not fitting for the first angel to be keeper of the history of Creation?"

And Michael had conceded the point; how could he not? But then, no one had questioned Father much in those days. If Father gave the first angel music, then nothing could be of more use.

In the sweltering desolation of the Cage, Lucifer had been able to catch glimpses and whispers of the outside world; but, at the end of things, he was alone. In that time he fashioned songs for himself in the darkness, soaring songs first of anger and then heart-wrenching sorrow - songs that would have made the world weep and angels plummet to Earth in streaks of light not unlike the time of the first Fall, songs of tragedy and remorse, the sound of broken hearts and torn dreams. Sometimes when the whispers of Heaven came through especially clear Lucifer would fall silent in rapturous greed as angelic voices flowed over him, so briefly, and close his eyes as those songs faded away into nothingness...

Sometimes he loved his gift for the sanity it allowed him to retain in Hell; but sometimes Lucifer had to wonder if his greatest blessing and pleasure was not merely the product of his Father's narcissism, God's love of praise. He wasn't quite sure what to think of that idea, and when the thought wandered into the devil's mind his music would sour in bitterness.

(Satanic death metal did come from somewhere, you know).

* * *

Castiel isn't sure why he goes back to Chuck's. But he's there, staring at the wingprints stretched out over the floor. The body of Raphael's vessel is gone, but somehow this, these solemn remnants, mean much more.

_The third and fourth archangels are both dead, _Castiel thinks. _And the remaining two would happily kill the other..._

He senses a presence creeping behind him, quiet but not trying to be stealthy, and the person's hesitance makes his identity plain. But Castiel says nothing.

"You were tempted."

A quiet accusation. "I don't understand what you mean," says Castiel, calmly. His wings start twitching.

"You said no. But even if I didn't write it - you _wanted _to say yes. You were tempted - by the devil."

Castiel is very, very still, his voice even and inflectionless. "That is what the devil does. The initial feeling does not matter, so long as we recall our purpose and - "

_"Bull!" _The unexpected strength of Chuck's conviction startles Castiel into falling silent. "You're _still _thinking about it. You don't care about God anymore. You _want _to join Lucifer, and not just because you know he's going to win - " black-singed wings jerk with shock " - but because you've _always _wanted that - haven't you?"

"No. Not always."

"Not before the Fall, you mean? You tried to deny it, after, but - "

"I did _not."_

"But you were afraid, weren't you? Too afraid to admit it to yourself, even, so you acted twice as pious as the best of all the other angels, kept your blind faith, until humanity _made _you Doubt, just like Lucifer - "

_"Fondness _for humanity, not - "

"And you liked them, at first, and still sort of do, but then you saw what we're like, most of us, not the exceptions and saints Heaven likes to talk about, and you saw what we were doing to Earth, and you wondered if maybe what Lucifer thought wasn't - "

"_Be silent!"_

Castiel whirls around, hands tightening; the room begins to shake. But Chuck just stares at him with an eerie, uncharacteristic calm, his eyes dark.

Castiel tries to keep his body from revealing anything, but his wings, invisible, rustle angrily behind him. "I don't hate humanity."

"That's the thing," Chuck says sadly. "_You_ don't have to."

* * *

Lucifer was wrong. Los Angeles is _boring._

Oh, there's sin in plenty - no doubt about that. But who cares? No one. There's no fun in tempting people who fall from faith without even caring.

He does little things, at first. Passes a large man, sends a slight suggestion to rape the pretty young virgin he's eyeing. Walks by a CEO, and sends along paranoia, so that the man resolves to kill his partner the next day. The thing is, it's all so _easy. _It's not as though Lucifer is controlling their minds - he's just _suggesting, _really. These people could brush off the suggestions, hell, even say no, but do they? Of course not. Because everyone wants to indulge, in the end - wants to murder and rape and thieve and sloth. Some humans deny it, but it's just repression, repression, repression, and Lucifer can see every secret desire in every creature.

Lucifer sits in a small cafe, listening to people walk by.

"I mean, I didn't want to say no and hurt his feelings, or anything," a girl tells her friend ruefully.

The friend laughs. "You're too nice, Kelsey!"

'Kelsey' hums. Lucifer peers in her head. The girl often fantasizes about killing her Biology teacher, her indifferent family - wonders, occasionally, how people would react if she just grabbed a knife and _lunged _out of nowhere.

She also, of course, takes a certain pride in being kind and gracious to everyone.

"I mean, did you _see_ that ass?" A man exclaims.

"Bill!"

"What? You're no fun at all, Jacob..."

Jacob hadn't seen that girl's 'ass'. Mainly because he liked looking at people a little... younger. And, occasionally, doing a little more than looking - not always with consent.

"Have a nice day!" A cashier says cheerfully. _Go home and blow your brains out, fag, _he thinks, and he'll go home to write hateful comments online and make harassing calls and picket homosexual marriage and women's rights and maybe argue for a few white-supremist debates while he's at it. Possibly, if he can get there in time, he'll attend a Klan meeting.

"Why can't people say what they mean?" A girl complains, and she will lie, lie, lie, and gain everything she can by it -

That's what Lucifer never understands, really. Lying. Everything else, all forms of indulgence - alright. But lying? If there's one thing Heaven never accused Lucifer of, it was dishonesty.

_That _is certainly nothing that can be traced back to the Apple.

* * *

"Brother, why does Father not make more creations for Heaven?" Castiel once asked Lucifer.

"There are millions of angels."

"But _only _angels, and we have made everything else here from ideas Father gave us. But we are the only living things. Why are there no plants or creatures like those He put on Earth? No nature?"

Lucifer was puzzled. "Well... Heaven is made of energy. On a different plane of existence than that of Earth."

"Because Father made it that way," Castiel pointed out. "And if He wanted He could make plants and animals compatible with Heaven, too."

And Lucifer thought about this a long while, long enough that Castiel was still patiently waiting while hills and valleys flattened and rose and fell again. At last, for lack of anything more profound, he simply said, "Because that is Father's will, and a part of Father's plan. So it must be the right thing to do."

Castiel looked Down, down through wind and rain and different dimensions to Earth, and then around him at the gaping emptiness of his home, and said, "Heaven can be a little dull."

"Maybe, one day, we can change that. Add to Heaven, I mean. Populate it. Make it beautiful, too."

"Maybe."

* * *

They meant to find Castiel. Really.

Except then there was Meg and possessed-Bobby, and Zachariah, who is as much a dick as ever. There's no 'sword' of Michael - _Dean _is meant to be the archangel's vessel, meant to help them destroy the world in some horrible final battle, and _no thank you. _

But Dean's resolve falters when Sam, newly detoxed, is left writhing and choking up blood on the floor, pink spittle spraying everwhere as he gasps and moans. He might even be inclined to beg, who knows? Sam doesn't have enough breath for Dean tell for sure, but Dean is wavering. It took the Righteous Man thirty years to break in Hell, but watching Sammy get tortured - thirty seconds seems a closer estimate.

And then, Castiel.

Zachariah gapes at Castiel, horrified, staring _through _him and appalled by what he sees. Castiel doesn't speak, doesn't give Zachariah a chance to speak either; he just takes out his twisted blade, letting his darkling Grace shine bright and hot, with a glory frightfully reminiscient of the Morninstar, a shadow of the sun, and Zachariah flees.

Castiel takes one look at the Winchesters, waves a hand so that they're healed, and before they can speak he's gone.

* * *

Castiel is the angel of Thursday.

But all angels of Days have other provinces, too, which seems often forgotten even among his angelic brethren. Castiel is also the angel of tears and sorrow, and his domain is grief and suffering and empathy. But, perhaps more importantly, that also gives him an element of knowledge about seeking _release _from pain, just as tears can be cathartic and a welcome respite from sheer emotion.

Humans have long since forgotten about Castiel, one unimportant _malakhim _among millions, but long ago they directly prayed to him in moments of sorrow and suffering. When they did Castiel would invariably wait for Thursday (the only day he was always authorized to leave Heaven), then descend to Earth to assist.

Despite his area of expertise, Castiel was often puzzled by the causes of sorrow. So, a man you loved said some cruel words; obviously, he is not worth love, because he does not care about you. Simple. Grief over death was easier to understand, but only slightly. When an angel dies, their fate is unknown; but humans - good humans, anyway - go to Heaven. So why would their kin mourn?

(There's a reason Castiel isn't so well remembered in this role).

But he thinks he understands, now, just a little. Because he loves his Father, and he loves Lucifer, and he also hates both of them for the choice he has to make. This is what _conflict _feels like, he realizes. Castiel is tasting uncertainty and suddenly finds that _right _and _wrong _is not very clear-cut at all. Even the decision to help the Winchesters hadn't been so tormenting as this. He could rationalize that rebellion by saying that his absent Father would want someone to help the humans, but Lucifer...

"Please, angel Castiel, give me a divine sign," a weeping woman once prayed to him, back in the early days when angels could still openly help humans. "Let me know what action to take."

She killed herself hours later. Castiel had heard her prayer, but it was, after all, a Tuesday.

* * *

"Cas, damn it, quit moping and get down here!"

"Dean."

"Cas!" Dean whirls around, surprised. Wind whips through the dark parking lot, and a nearby light flickers. "You came."

"You prayed."

"I've been praying for you for _weeks, _dick. I mean, the hell have you been? Chuck told us fucking _Lucifer _was looking for you?"

"I... met Lucifer. After fleeing, I decided to circle the world." _A few hundred times._

"So he'd lose your trail?" Dean looks a little mollified. "Well, alright. But would it have killed you to have stopped to call?" A pause as Dean considers that. " - Okay, never mind. Anyway, what's the news in Heaven? We know I'm Michael's 'vessel', but - "

"I am Fallen now, Dean. I am not permitted to enter Heaven."

"Oh, right." Dean obviously isn't entirely aware of what that means, though to be fair he does look a little apologetic. "Hey, you hanging in okay? Doesn't that affect your powers?"

_Normally. _"No. If anything I am slightly more powerful than before."

"...Ooookay. Not going to look that horse in the mouth, I guess?" Dean shakes his head, and moves to sit on the edge of the sidewalk. "So - what was that with Lucifer, anyway?"

Castiel is silent for a moment.

"Cas?"

"...I should not stay long, Dean," says Castiel finally.

"Huh?"

"As a Fallen Angel, it is an easy matter for Lucifer to find me. I will speak to you later - preferably while you and Sam are on the move - but I need to leave."

"Well, uh - okay. But you should - "

With a faint flutter of wingbeats, Castiel vanishes.

" - Call. Damn it, Cas, I _know _you do that on purpose!"

* * *

In one of the earliest centuries after Creation, when the angels were fond of flitting around the new Earth to investigate it with wonder and almost childish delight, Lucifer took Castiel inland to show him bumblebees.

As often occurred, Castiel was initially puzzled by why, precisely, these tiny creatures shhould be considered any more important than others. He could appreciate all of God's creatures, of course, from the humble green grasses to the mighty sequoias, the microscopic amoeba to the collosal whale. Everything was unique and fascinating in those days, each new intricacy of design imbuing the observing angel with humbleness as they were impressed with the full perfection of the Plan.

But of the many creatures on Earth, this seemed one of the less fascinating, relatively speaking.

"Why are we here, Brother?"

Lucifer's looming True Form was glowing with something like joy. He knelt, causing a minor avalanche nearby. The bees continued flying blithely between flowers, oblivious. "This creature, Castiel, may be one of the most important lifeforms on Earth."

"What?" Castiel peered down. A bee was rubbing its legs over the anther of a flower as it collected nectar, tiny, sticky seeds of pollen clinging to its hairs. Iridiscent wings fluttered, and the yellow insect flew to a pale blue flower, repeating the process.

"First, Brother; do you notice anything unusual about this creature?"

Castiel considered the bee, then realized. "It possesses magic."

"Yes! Just a little, as do some similar insects across the world. These ones wouldn't be able to fly, otherwise. The magic also helps keep them from extinction."

"Why?"

"Because these small creatures, and others like them, intergrate all aspects of Creation. Plants _can _populate and grow without their assistance, but with greater difficulty. Without a surplus of plants, land-based lifeforms couldn't develop."

"Father means to put larger creatures on land?"

(This was before the crawling fish that struggled from the deeps, and to Castiel the idea was amazing).

"Yes, in time. This is just the start of the wonder of Creation, Little Brother. And with the methods Father has given these creatures to adapt, the mortal world will be in constant flux for eternity. You can fly down and find something new everyday."

"Every Thursday, for me."

"Well, yes."

"It's not like Heaven, is it?"

"What?"

"How it changes. Earth is always changing, but Heaven is exactly the same, day after day."

"I suppose that's true."

(This, as it later turned out, was as far from the truth as could possibly be).

* * *

"I think something's up with Cas."

Sam nods after listening to Dean's recitation. "Yeah - did you notice the way he looked at us, when he stopped by to save us from Zachariah? I could have sworn he looked a little guilty..."

Dean rolls his eyes. "That's not what I mean. We started the _apocalypse, _and at least part of that clusterfuck was caused by Cas not telling us about Lillith being a seal. He'd _better _be a little guilty, and if not I owe him a good punch in the face. No, I mean the way he's avoiding us - and Heaven and everything else. I mean, he got kicked out from upstairs, what the hell is he doing these days?"

"Well, he said he's running from Lucifer."

"Just running? All the time? I can't believe the devil thinks he's _that _much of a threat."

"You know, we could just _talk _to him."

"Well, sure. If he actually _showed up. _And didn't vanish as soon as we started asking questions."

"...We have some holy oil left, right?"

Dean blinks. Then grins.

* * *

Lucifer is restless.

This, as one might imagine, can never be a good thing. He _wants _to get a start on destroying humanity, but that requires his Perfect Vessel, and he's having a hard time tracking down Sam Winchester, much to his chagrin.

The other thing he wants, though, may be even harder.

How to convince Castiel to join him? Castiel will. Lucifer tells himself that because the alternative is too painful. He _will, _but how to convince him? How to convey to Castiel the full horror of humanity, he who rebelled to try and save them? It's not an easy question, not one Lucifer is equipped to answer.

He decides to kill some time destroying the economy of Japan. You have to start with the little things, you know?

* * *

It used to be that when Castiel wanted to think he would fly to the empty corners of Heaven that Lucifer had loved, and he would stare into the Nothing as he contemplated the most likely desire of his Father. But now he was barred from Heaven, would be killed if he attempted to fly there; and, suddenly, Castiel finds the thought of considering God's wishes... uncomfortable.

So he flies around the world again and again and again, and when he tires of that he flies from Earth altogether, leaving it far behind and racing for Mars, Saturn, Pluto, and then he doubles around and barrels straight into the mists of the radiant Venus, peering out into the vastness of space from Lucifer's namesake. There is irony in this, but he doesn't care.

Without quiet knowing why, he starts to pray.

_"Give me a sign," _the Fallen angel prays, and he thinks of weeping women and the long wait for Thursday. _"Give me a sign, that I might know your will and act rightly. That I may do what is right for humanity and Heaven - " _Castiel hesitates, _" - And for myself."_

And, as he finishes, Castiel realizes he isn't sure who he is praying to.

* * *

**Recap! Lucifer is screwing over Japan, the Winchesters are planning to trap Castiel, and Cas is a conflicted angel. Hope you enjoyed, and I hope to have the next chapter up soon.**


	3. For the Devil is a Creature of Light

**Sorry for how long this chapter took! I have exams this week - bleh. And three concerts the last two weeks. **_**AND **_**this site occasionally gets difficult and refuses to allow me to upload anything. Gah. **

**Hopefully I'll be able to write more this weekend, but for now I thought a short chapter would do.**

**As always, this story is going in a different direction then I planned. It just **_**happened**_**, I swear.**

* * *

_And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light._

_-2 Corinthians 11:14_

* * *

**For the Devil is a Creature of Light**

* * *

"I don't _try _to be evil, you know?" says Lucifer.

The gagged man just stares at him, eyes huge and terrified. Lucifer pauses, as though waiting for a response. "It's just," he continues, "It's just - like that saying. That stupid mortal saying. _The way to Hell is paved with good intentions. _I was really just trying to make a point, you understand."

The man whimpers, writhing in terror. Sweat trickles into his dark, fearful eyes as he watches smoke trail beneath the opposing door. The small metallic room is already unbearably hot, and the impression of red flames flicker against the opaque door's window like the beginnings of Hellfire.

"And then they threw me down, and for what? What's so redeemable about _you?" _Lucifer gestures at the man in disgust as the other flinches - as much as one can, anyway, whilst pinned telepathically to a wall. "A mortal! A parasite on paradise! Now here am I, cast down, condemned - condemned _by my own hand, _they say - as though I were a villain! One suggestion. Eve ate the apple. And now I'm reduced to - _this. _Rambling at the filth of her descendents to the sound of screams and the stench of cold urine. Father, you're all _pathetic."_

The man is crying silently. "Of course," Lucifer says, "who _else _could I speak to? My Fallen have been killed by my Brothers up Above, except for..."

He trails off. Except for Castiel, of course. Castiel, who has not yet tried to contact Lucifer again. Castiel, the brightest of the _malakhim, _the nova amongst a million stars.

And Castiel is special, unique, but - "Who is he?" Lucifer asks suddenly. "Who does he think he _is, _bidding me to wait? I'm the Fallen archangel, he's a Fallen angel_ - of course _he's mine, he's been mine since I rose."

Lucifer draws closer to the man. A muffled scream is strangled out from behind the bleeding, mangled flesh stuffed in the unknown's mouth, torn from already-dead victims; the devil doesn't seem to notice. "I need to figure out how to _show _him that," says Satan earnestly. "That's all. We can rule the world together, it's that easy. Without him - "

Lucifer imagines that for a moment. Paradise, forever - but Paradise alone. Cut off from Heaven, just simpering demons for company - who, frankly, he would probably kill off eventually. And then it would just be Lucifer again, just like in the Cage...

"That's not going to happen," Lucifer declares. "Never again."

The man shakes out sobbing, wheezing breaths. Tears stream down his face through shiny, sweat-stained skin; a narrow chest heaves erratically.

Lucifer stares at the man. "You truly _are _useless, aren't you?" The devil sighs. "I'll have my demons kill the other CEO's of Japan. Things to do, people to torture." Shrugging, the devil vanishes in a flutter of wings.

The room bursts open, and as flames rush in, the man is sent to an entirely new Hell.

* * *

"You're sure about this?" Sam asks uneasily.

"You're the one who suggested it."

"Well, _yeah, _but that doesn't mean it will work. I mean, he _gave _us the Holy Oil. What if he realizes this is a trap? That won't go over well, Dean."

"You realize we _do _have to let him out eventually either way, right? Whatever goes down, Cas is gonna end up pissed." A shrug. "He'll get over it. This is necessary, anyway. You gotta admit, he's acting freaking _weird."_

Sam pauses in their preparations a moment, eyeing his brother. "What exactly has you so worried, Dean? What do you _think _is going on with Cas?"

Dean says nothing for a moment, then; "We gotta hurry. I want him in before the sun goes down; he's not always so good about punching in after prayer."

Sam sighs at the evasion, but doesn't protest. Together the two carefully conceal a veritable armory under a table, filled with every supernatural-detecting tool in their arsenal - EMF, salt, holy water, silver knives, blessed swords, etc. Sam isn't certain what sort of thing can adversely affect an angel (and if such a thing exists, it might be more than they know how to deal with), but it's concerning to see how paranoid Dean has become. What is it he suspects?

* * *

The thing is, Castiel is lonely.

He shouldn't be, really. Angels are made to love their Father, but they are by nature typically solitary creatures. That seems strange, for a being with millions of siblings, but it's true. Every angel, great or small, is in the end a soldier. There is a comraderie, but they were made for function, not to have free will and personal happiness. The bond of brotherhood has a certain strength, but when an angel dies his brothers quickly shrug off the event and move on.

(The archangels are exceptions- but no one ever seems to realize that.)

Castiel, though... Castiel has always been different. Sometimes he has wondered, secretly, if Lucifer had given him more than a chance to heal during their meeting in Heaven. Grace had been imparted to him; had that changed more than his wings, and altered his very personality? Had it gifted him with the ability to love more fiercely, hate more fiercely, _feel _more fiercely, as the archangels did?

As the devil did?

There was Lucifer, in the beginning, and that was enough. And then after the Fall there had been a millenia of silence and coldness, suspicion, before slowly, achingly, his Brothers had started to trust Castiel again. But even when he was a commander in his own right, Castiel was isolated, alone, derent and strange among a veritable sea of uniformity.

Then there was Dean, Sam, Bobby. And, again, Lucifer.

Lucifer...

_Cas? _

Castiel tilts his head, listening. "_Cas - Fuck!" _There is a tinge of desperation to the 'prayer'. "_Cas, seriously, whatever the Hell you're doing, we could - fuck Sam, on your left! - could use some help, Lucifer send about a dozen goons after Sam, come on, are you even fucking hearing me - "_

Castiel is already flying.

* * *

Castiel has his sword out the moment he arrives, landing hard on the warehouse floor. His eyes dart around, confused. Where are the demons? Sam and Dean aren't in sight - have they been taken...?

"Now!"

Castiel stumbles back at flames flare from the ground around him, searing heat that appears to the angel to throw up a darkly glowing barrier of menacing power, sparking and compressing his Grace. His wings close in tightly, fleeing from the malevolent power, and Castiel recognizes the cause at once. Holy Fire.

"Dean? Sam?"

The two step forward, warily; Dean holds the demon-knife in one hand, and Sam is armed with holy water and a shotgun.

"Christo!" Dean snaps. Castiel stares at him blankly.

"I am not a demon."

Dean ignores him, and Sam flings the holy water at Castiel's bare face. The angel blinks, bewildered, through the water in his eyes.

He watches in increasing perplexity and growing irritation as he is stabbed, shot with silver bullets, knicked with a blessed sword, and subjected to a dozen other minor tests, including being forced to listen to several exorcisms and incantations.

Castiel is not prone to harm by mortal weapons, but being shot is not precisely _pleasant. _And the entire situation is aggravating - not least because it indicates that the Winchesters are highly suspicious of something.

Finally, the two seemed to have run out of tests.

"Are you quite done?"

"Yup." Dean looks unrepentant, though Sam at least has the grace to appear mildly abashed. "Now that we know you're you, we just have a few questions."

"Without the fire, if you will?"

"So you can just fly off? Yeah, right."

A prickle of unease. "So you would trap me here instead? Against my will?"

Sam shifts slightly, uneasy, but Dean shoots his brother a warning look, then says, "Call it - an intervention. Somethings up, Cas, and whatever it is, we can help."

"No. No, you cannot."

_How can you help me decide, when I am determining if I should betray you?_

"See? Just proof that you're in deep. Now. _Talk."_

"It's not that easy Dean."

"When is it ever? Consider us masochists. _Talk."_

"I - "

A terrible wind surges through the room; the holy fire flickers. "What the - " Dean starts; and then both hunters are aiming their weapons in an entirely new direction.

"Dean. Sam." Lucifer smiles, mockingly. "So good to finally meet you."

Castiel sees the realization in the hunters' eyes; Dean's gaze snaps to Castiel, horrified and even a little guilty, and Castiel realizes that the other now believes Castiel's story of fleeing from the devil. In truth, Castiel isn't sure why Lucifer appeared. Had he somehow sensed that Castiel was in the presence of his True Vessel?

Lucifer answers the question, though. "I felt your alarm, Castiel, and the suppression of your powers." Lucifer's eyes flicker to the fire, slightly disgusted. Castiel recalls that Lucifer had been the first one to use holy fire as a weapon, though, so he somewhat doubts the devil's sincerity. "And _these _are the ones you call friends? The ones you deny me for?" Lucifer _tsks. _"Oh, Castiel! How you have fallen."

"I have already realized that," Castiel deadpans.

Lucifer waves a hand, airily. "Oh, of course you're Fallen; I mean the company you're forced to keep." He appraises the hunters. "Of course, I suppose there must be something more special about Vessels, at least, so you could have chosen worse humans. Pity, though." He looks at Sam. "You're mine, aren't you? One word is all it takes, Sam, and you can put all this behind you - "

"Go fuck yourself," Dean snaps.

Lucifer looks amused. "Such dirty language from the Righteous Man," he tuts. "Rebellious, though - did it make you remember me?" he directs the last at Castiel, who is silent.

"We're not saying yes," Dean tells him, tersely. "Either of us." Castiel can tell that both brothers _yearn _to start shooting, but it would just be suicide. They have nothing on hand that could possibly harm the devil, as Lucifer knows, except -

He sees the moment Sam realizes. The hunter's eyes widen, just a little, and his gaze flickers between the condescending form of Lucifer and a small container on the side of the room, which Castiel recognizes as the one holding holy oil. Sam's gaze then goes to the fire around Castiel - and then, more worriedly, at Castiel himself, trapped in the center. Castiel keeps his face neutral.

* * *

"Why did you save me?" Castiel asked Lucifer one day.

"You are my Brother."

"You had many brothers on the field that day; you did not stop for any of them."

Lucifer had looked at him, radiating softness and love and the light of ten thousand stars, the brilliant, beautiful light that outshone anything in Heaven. "No, I did not," he said fondly. "I saw something _special _in you, right from the first. You were different, Castiel - you still are."

"I am just a _malakhim," _Castiel had protested, because he was. He was one of a million others, all made the same, with the same gifts and purpose. But Lucifer had shaken his glowing head.

"No. Each of us is unique, Castiel - and does that not, by inherent nature, imply there must be a hierarchy of some sort?" And Castiel had frowned, considering that idea seriously. "And you," Lucifer continued, "are the best of the _malakhim - _and greater, perhaps, than many of other orders as well. There is great potential in you, Castiel - for what, I do not know. But you will be important, one day."

And, because he did not know what to say, Castiel responded, "If that is true, Lucifer, then you are the greatest of the archangels, and all of Father's children."

Lucifer's radiant smile was blinding, and it was that day that a passing angel squinted at the Morninstar and first named him _Lightbringer._

* * *

Sam's finger twitches in what must be a signal to Dean. Lucifer doesn't seem to notice, but Dean doesn't miss a beat, starting to slowly circle the devil. Lucifer, amused, turns a little to watch him, unconcerned with having Sam at his back. "You realize you're going right along with Heaven's plan, right?" Dean prods. "Final battle, and all that. You _know _all their prophecies say that you're going to lose. It'd be better for all of us if you just let that whole Armageddon thing slide."

Lucifer laughs, a bright, delighted sound. "Oh, how - pitiful. I see now, Castiel; they _are _amusing, aren't they? Your pet thinks I can be _talked _from the Apocalypse." The smile fades, very abruptly, into something dark and bitter and _piercing. _"_Talked _from it - as though imprisonment in the deepest layer of Hell for untold millenia can be forgotten, forgiven. No. There is no going back, little Brother."

Sam has moved behind Lucifer. Castiel sees him grasp the container, unscrewing the top slowly, quietly.

"You've been in Hell, Dean, yes?" Dean's face tightens. "Now try to imagine something _worse, _for thousands and thousands of years up here, and uncounted _eons _below. Darkness, all around, impenetrable silence, nothing to touch, hold, smell, feel - all senses gone, forever - and yet you can't go mad, can't go insane, because God has forbidden it. Just silence, silence, silence." And Lucifer smiles, harsh and mocking and everything hateful in the world. Dean, despite himself, flinches back. "How would you like that, Dean? Maybe I'll toss _you _in the Cage, after Michael has said yes and I've torn him from your husk and smote him down. Unless, of course..." Lucifer's voice turns cajoling, semi-kind, "Unless Sammy wants something different during our agreement..."

And the container is being raised, Sam's arms tensing, Dean's eyes burning and trying _so hard _to give nothing away -

And Castiel, seeing it all, thinks of a fight during the first days of his life, remembers dying and living, remembers the light of the Morninstar shining above him and in him -

_"Brother! Behind you!"_

So Sam throws; and holy oil splatters to the ground, uselessly, on the spot where the devil once stood.

"Thank you, Castiel, that could have been messy."

Dean is frozen, staring uncomprehendingly at Castiel, and Sam slowly backs away from the two angels.

Lucifer half-turns, glancing at the two; he smiles. "Oh? You didn't tell your friends, Castiel?" With a gust of wind, the holy fire is snuffed out; Castiel remains in place. "Castiel was my favorite in Heaven, you know, before the fall. The _Eveninstar, _some called him back then, for doesn't Evening always follow Morning?" Lucifer shakes his head. "If there is truly such a thing as fate, then it was destiny that led me to not call you to my side with the rest of my garrison, little Brother, when I convinced them to rebel. Now you, of all of them, live still - and for that I am forever grateful." Lucifer held out a hand, and behind him, invisible to the humans, his great black wings fluttered in irrepressible anticipation. "Join me again, Brother. Join me to rule, side by side; join me forever. Love me, swear yourself to me, and forsake the Father that has vanished; is that so hard?"

"Cas," Dean breathes behind them, horrified.

Castiel is silent for a long, long while, staring between Lucifer's hand and deadened holy oil on the ground. Lucifer's hand doesn't waver; behind Lucifer, Sam stares at Castiel with wide, pleading eyes. There is, in the end, only one option that seems right.

So Castiel steps out of the ring, grasping the devil's hand.

Lucifer's joy makes him _radiant._

"We'll will beat down the walls of Heaven together," Satan declares, and his eyes shine with triumph. Dean sinks to his knees, and Sam falls against the far wall. The Morninstar and the new Eveninstar fly away in a flicker of wings, and Castiel feels, for the first time in millenia, free again.

And this is the beginning of the end.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed? Constructive Criticism always appreciated!**


	4. The Eveninstar

**A/N: Just started rewatching Season 4 of Supernatural. Lord, I forgot how intense Cas was in the beginning! And watching the earlier seasons reminds me of Sam's positive qualities, too, which is good, because he gets pretty bitchy in later seasons and I forget why I ever liked him. DEMONS ARE BAD, SAM. ALSO, DON'T KILL CIVILIANS. Not a hard concept...**

**Also, I realize that Crowley officially joins Team Free Will after discovering Jesse, but I'm conveniently ignoring that. Just assume that little fact happened earlier, yes? And the Winchesters therefore have the Colt.**

* * *

**EveninStar**

* * *

_And with that the angel Castiel turned his back on humankind and joined forces with Lucifer, condemning humanity to an early apocalypse._

-Book of Chuck, 66;6

* * *

The moon is just cresting into sight when the Fallen angels appear in the clearing. Dusk is deepening into twilight, the brightest stars already peering down through dark leaves to twinkle merrily, obliviously. Castiel could identify each one by name, could remember watching their creation, their making, and often at the side of this same Brother. He knows, too, that some of the light he sees is still streaming down from a black emptiness, a bright shadow cast by a dead star, and the realization is oddly disturbing.

Lucifer is watching him, silently. The Morningstar's dark wings block out the starlight behind him, but radiate a brighter glow of their own.

Castiel looks around; wind tousles the grass so that it waves back in long ripples of silver-green. Castiel had expected them to fly to some dark area to begin planning, not to land in an empty place miles from civilization.

_Why are we here, _he almost ask - and then he remembers.

A slash of rippling energy, buffeting him. Torn wings, air streaking by, spinning downwards, slamming into the ground -

"This is where I fell," the angel realizes, quietly. "When the Leviathon cast me down."

"This is where we met," the devil agrees.

And Castiel, looking over the cold land, finds that there is nothing else that needs to be said.

They stay there the rest of the night.

* * *

Dean has often doubted Castiel.

Less so, recently, but at the beginning he was very hesitant. Castiel had good intentions; Dean has always known that. It was the one thing that made the angel so damn likeable. But Castiel _was_ an angel, built for loyalty, and he had always struggled with disobeying orders. Dean had waited anxiously for the inevitable time when Castiel would refuse to help them, or try to flee to Heaven to beg pardon for his rebellion.

It never occurred to Dean once that, after trying so hard to prevent Lucifer from rising, Castiel would leave them to stand by the devil's side and watch the world burn.

* * *

The ride to Bobby's passes with something between a manic and shell-shocked silence. Neither Winchester speaks, the screeching tunes of ACDC or Zeppelin thundering in the lonely air between them. At one point Dean abruptly pulls over to the side of a bare, pot-holed road and just sits there, hands clenched around the Impala's steering-wheel, nostrils flaring in tempo with the stuttering rise and fall of his chest. His eyes are perfectly blank, focused on some inward demon. Sam waits, mutely, until Dean finally starts driving again twenty minutes later.

They rattle into the autoyard as dawn breaks, and the dismayed scrap-heaps scattered through the yard seem morbidly appropriate. It is only as they pull to a stop that Sam wonders what, exactly, they have come to Bobby's for.

But Singer's auto is as much a safe haven as they have, he supposes. Dean, without need for dialogue, jumps out and makes a beeline for the door.

By the time Sam has followed, an irate-but-concerned Bobby is watching Dean down a shot of some murky alcohol; then he starts pouring another. Bobby turns to Sam, raising an eyebrow in a way that's both question and demand.

Sam eyes Dean warily, but there are only so many ways to say it.

"Cas joined Lucifer."

The shotglass _clinks _against the table, hard, and shatters. Dean just takes a swig from the bottle instead, face stony, eyes still staring straight ahead.

"_What?"_

"We saw him - Lucifer, I mean. he just asked Cas to join him, and - " Sam hesitates, glancing dubiously at Dean, " - and, Lucifer mentioned that they'd been close, once, back in Heaven. He called Cas the 'Eveninstar'."

Bobby seems to be trying to wrap his head around the idea.

And that's when Crowley shows up.

* * *

Castiel isn't certain how to deal with demons, so he hovers at the back of the expensive hotel room as they wander in and out. He is no longer an angel, and the Grace within him burns like hot oil, dark and greasy and unholy. But it _is _Grace, so the demons avert their gazes from him, and no one wanders too close.

Lucifer finishes conversing (read, barking orders) with a demon, and approaches Castiel. The demon pops away, but another walks forward. She's taken a young woman as a host, with dark hair and dark eyes. Not very pretty, but not ugly; nondescript.

"I'm putting you in charge of twenty demons," Lucifer said. "More will replace them, if they're exorcised, so don't worry about that." Demonic casualties had never concerned Lucifer. "Just in case you need to delegate for anything we're working on. This one - " he waves lazily at the girl, "will lead them."

"Does she have a name?"

"No. Does she need one?"

"It would be easier. His gaze flickers to the demon. She gazes back with barely-contained hostility - and maybe a little fear. "...I'll call you Elel."

Lucifer laughs a long time.

Elel leaves. Castiel wonders what they'll be focusing on. Lucifer shouldn't try accessing most of his powers without Sam, so presumably Castiel will be delegated to any 'heavy lifting', as it were, for awhile.

When Lucifer has finally dismissed the last of his minions (because there really isn't a better term for them), he turns to Castiel.

"Brother; I presume you're wondering what task I have for you?"

"I am."

Lucifer's teeth flashed white. "Isn't it obvious? You're the greatest of my followers, after all, and the only one I would entrust to this."

"...Angels."

"Yes. Take out anyone aiding the Winchesters, for a start; but any angels interfering at all with our plans need to be taken care of." Lucifer smiled, this time a little more gently. "But don't risk yourself if you don't feel up to a task, Castiel. If you find yourself matched, call me. I am not Father, and you are not cannon fodder."

"Yes, Brother."

Castiel wishes he could be surprised when Lucifer gives him the sword.

"This is an achangel's blade."

"Yes - it was Raphael's."

It's a silly thing, to be disturbed by the propriety of holding an archangel's blade after Rebelling, but Castiel frowns. "I am not an archangel," he points out.

"Yes, you are. The archangels were the first of Father's creations, the first order of angels, as you are first among the Fallen."

"No, am I not."

"Are you referencing those who rebelled with me? They were never mine, Castiel - not truly. They were angels through and through, and in the end they belonged to Father. You are the only one with a part of myself - my first and only creation. If I am the new God, you are my right hand."

Castiel says nothing, because what is there to say?

But he does take the blade.

* * *

Crowley has downed about half of Bobby's impressive stache of liquor; it's a testament to the seriousness of the situation that Bobby doesn't protest.

"A fucking angel," Crowley says, finally, "has given up on stopping the apocalypse. The same angel who bloody well _rebelled to prevent it." _He takes another swig, eyes flashing blood-red; he looks more frightened than intimidating. "And, oh, he's now _stronger than ever _and fucking buggered off and _JOINED THE DEVIL!"_

The shot glass smashed against the far wall. Dean's jaw clenches, but he says nothing.

"Why'd you come here, Crowley?" Sam asks quietly.

"Why? Fuck if I know, now." Crowley laughs bitterly. "Damn - look. There's an antichrist."

"A _what?"_

"You heard me. An antichrist. Even angels cower at the thought of that - archangels, too. Hell, _Lucifer_ would hesitate to go against an antichrist."

"Antichrist. Antichrist, like, _Lucifer's son?"_

Crowley scowls. "Lucifer is still an archangel, you know; if he had a kid it'd be a nephilim, which is no longer physically _possible, _due to a lot of unpleasantness you two idiots are lucky enough to not need to worry antichrist can be born of any human and demon, but the angels usually intervene before birth."

"Intervene, as in...?"

Crowley just gave Sam a Look.

"...Okay." Dean grimaces. "Do you know where this guy is?"

"Of course not. If the demons know, don't you think we'd be using him? His name's Jesse, he's about eleven, and he's very powerful. That's all I know. Do your damn dirty work yourself."

And he's gone.

* * *

It's... strange, being in service to the devil. Yes, strange is the best word for it. Not really _that _different than serving Heaven, except, well, in every way that it is.

Castiel is guarding a group of demons right now. Those demons have barricaded a town to experiment with the Croatoan virus, and Lucifer imagines that the angels will be curious; they might want the Apocalypse to happen, too, but Heaven is banking on a final battle with _Michael_ as the glorious victor; they're still happy to slow down any other plans.

Lucifer is correct, of course; when is he not? Three angels appear, furtive scouts, and the demons don't even notice until Castiel quietly flies to their leader. The demon - Yintin - stiffens and leans away, and at the same time bows his head. "My lord?"

"There are three angels to our South," Castiel murmurs. The demon flinches. "Prepare the sigils and be ready to abandon the project."

"Yes, my lord." The boy-demon flinches and scrambles to bow as Castiel flaps away.

(Castiel isn't fond of demons, but then, neither is Lucifer, so that's okay.)

He finds the angels sitting in a slender young tree outside the secluded town, watching with piercing, far-seeing gazes. The whistling wind doesn't move them, nor the laws of gravity; three angels shouldn't fit on the bare tree branch, but they do.

An acorn falls on the head of a large male; he doesn't notice. Two female-vesseled angels sit on either side of him, one in a prim suit, the other contrasting her with a bikini and shorts. It's too cold out for either this night, but, angels.

Castiel kills the male first.

His scream, and the flare of Grace streaming from the broken husk, alerts the other two; they scramble for their own blades, and the three of them must make a ridiculous sight, a trenchcoat-clad male facing a businesswoman and a bikini-model, all holding tiny silver swords, but there is nothing ridiculous about the _fear _in the eyes of the female-angels. The suited angel steps back, eyes wide, as she takes in the oily sheen of his Grace.

"Castiel," she breathes. Suddenly, she turns to the other. "To Heaven! Tell them!"

Castiel comes bearing down on her, and then there is no room to talk. Slash, parry, thrust; this angel is just another _malakhim, _but Castiel is not, not any longer. He is Fallen, he belongs to Lucifer. He is the devil's first archangel, and she falls.

He takes to wing as her light fades, peering around; but the third angel is gone, confused host abandoned; she is in Heaven. It doesn't matter much, really, but the failure stings.

He flies back to camp, blade still exposed. A short male demon starts at the sight of him, mouth twitching open to expel smoke before the creature remembers itself and bows instead, cringing. Castiel just sweeps by without a word.

It's a dark place, this city, but then it should be. Those few humans left have barricaded themselves inside their homes whilst their family and friends wander around, lunging for anyone with the misfortune to wander into sight. They ignore the demons, and Castiel is avoided.

The town is silent, furtive, just the sulfuric scent of demon and the iron tang of blood in the air. Every now and then a distant scream is cut short, and by now Castiel can almost ignore the sound.

The boy-demon tentatively approaches. "My lord? Were you successful?"

"I killed two of them," says Castiel flatly. "The third escaped."

"I will send a messenger to Him," the demon says, quickly, and flees.

Castiel watches him go. He should, he thinks, have called his twenty demons - or at least a few of them - to help attack the three angels. Castiel is strong, but not _that _strong. Still, he has a certain aversion to working with these taints; an instinct that has held firm for eons is difficult to drop.

Screams echo from somewhere to the east. Glancing around, Castiel hears gunfire, and then a huge explosion; within moment the local schoolhouse is in flames.

_Mass_ _Suicide, or accident? _he wonders. It doesn't really matter.

Castiel take to the sky again, reveling in the flare and flap of his dark wings, and he circles the camp in silence as daylight moves to dusk, watching as the humans below, ever so slowly, continue to die.

* * *

Crowley, you must understand, is not a selfless person.

He is not, in fact, even a good person - and if you're very concerned about semantics, he's not a 'person' at all. He is, at the end of things, a demon.

Angels can differ - obviously. Cold and warm, wrathful and loving, and everything in between. But demons...

Well, there are certainly different types of demons, in the same way there are different types of people. But it needs to be remembered that demons are the products of those who _went to Hell. _There are no good demons, no better demons - by Crowley's appraisal, demons are weighted on cruelty, pettiness, and stupidity. There is no question that every demon possesses these traits; only the quantity is in debatable.

In that regard, Crowley proudly considers himself rather superior. He is more efficient than cruel - usually - and his moments of petty revenge or selfish haste are typically minor or carefully planned. And stupidity - in that, well, he's probably one of the craftiest demons in the Pit.

Or so he claimed before siding with the Winchesters.

But he _has_ sided with the Winchesters. The devil intends to kill all demons once the apocalypse is done, Crowley is sure of that. Castiel's defection has only solidified the thought. And now he has to either side with the Winchesters or find someway to gain the devil's favor; the latter seems a very unlikely task.

...On the other hand, evidence _has_ shown Castiel to be relatively pliable...

* * *

"He killed a Brother and Sister - and you _fled?" _Zachariah's thunderous voice booms throughout the ether of Heaven, and it falls silent before his wrath. The trembling angel before him - clad, weirdly, in a human bikini that makes her look particularly small - bows her head silently. "He is one malakhim! You were three! How could this happen?"

"Sir - he is not a malakhim. Not anymore. He is something unholy now. Lucifer changed him - his power has grown exponentially. I would never have stood a chance of touching him." She lowers her eyes. "I felt it best to report, but I accept whatever penalty is necessary."

"...No." Zachariah says, finally. "...You did right, Sister." The angel relaxes a little. "Did you notice anything notable about the traitor?"

She hesitates.

"Sister?"

"Sir - I am afraid I must report that the Eveninstar killed our kin with the blade of the archangel Raphael."

That night the far reaches of Heaven are filled with quivering angels, all avoiding the wrathful fury of the regent Commander of Heaven. It is a bitter time.

Some wonder, privately, if Lucifer is a more stable leader.

(He is not. But he _is_ very, very persuasive).

* * *

Michael is tired.

This might be questioned, because Michael has done absolutely nothing for more than two thousand years. After the Fall the prince of Heaven grew obsessed with bitterness over the betrayal of Lucifer. Then Gabriel was dead, his vanishing Grace spreading ripples and chaos throughout Creation, and when God left too Michael fled entirely. He abandoned Heaven to Raphael, the youngest and least capable, the most callous, and he flew, flew, flew to the farthest reaches of space. Eventually, when his great wings grew weary, Michael flew to a nearby star, Polaris, and let himself become numb to the world in its fire.

So he sat there, burning with the star, fading in and out of time. He meditated, he thought, he prayed to Heaven, but mostly he remembered. He remembered his brother Lucifer, the most loyal, the most beloved, he who sang unceasing praises to the Almighty and was first to love, forgive, to _feel. _Lucifer the bright, Lucifer the beautiful, Lucifer the loyal - Lucifer the turncloak...

_And always, always, _Michael's mind whispered, _Father's favorite._

And wasn't he? Lucifer Fell, and God disappeared... No coincidence, surely. Now Heaven was silent and brooding, Earth was filled with sinful humans, the demons waited below in the Pit with Lucifer caged and bound and tortured...

In that dark loneliness the heat of the star seemed a crude mimicry of Hell - to Michael's imagination, at least - and his bitterness grew, fed by the flames and feeding them in turn.

And then, one day, he is not alone.

"Sir?"

It seems to take an eon for Michael to slowly tilt his stiff head, the first movement of any sort in over three centuries. Finding his voice, unused for much longer, is more difficult. "...What?"

It's an angel, he thinks, with a little wonder. He doesn't know the _malakhim's _name, but he is a small thing, a dim thing in comparison to the star that has been Michael's home for so long. The angel seems uncomfortable in his regard - as though recognizing this failing, Michael thinks - and lowers his gaze.

"Sir. The Apocalypse is nigh. Your presence is required on Earth."

The Apocalypse.

_Brother._

_Lightbringer._

_Traitor - _

"Yes," says Michael. The angel tilts his head, puzzled by the non sequitor. Then he's jerking around, struggling to match the streaming fire that is the Warrior of God, and together they streak through the cosmos like twin stars in the night.

* * *

"I understand, Little Brother," says Lucifer. "But do try to make use of the demons next time, won't you? I made them for a reason, after all. If they're not put to use as cannon fodder, why bother creating them at all?"

Castiel doesn't have a reply for that. Luckily, Lucifer doesn't seem to expect one. The archangel begins pacing the lavish hotel room. His vessel is starting to peel, just a little, around the eyes; the red sores burn with poisoned Grace. "In any case," Lucifer continues, "my sources in Heaven have informed me that Zachariah doesn't seem overly concerned about the Croatoan virus."

"You have sources in Heaven?"

"But of course." Lucifer smiles faintly. "Cowards all, of course, but what do you expect? I would not trust any individual among them, but they all agree on this point. Zachariah, fool that he is, has dismissed the power of our project. Therefore, I believe it would be best to split your attention between the experiment and a more important assignment."

"Which would be?"

Lucifer's smile is sharp now, deadly, and if Castiel were anyone else he would look away. But he is, after all, the Eveninstar. "There are angels hunting down the weapons of God for Michael to use against me in the battle. Many, through one mean or another, have fallen to Earth."

"I am to find them?"

"No; I have assigned hundreds of demons to that task. I want you, Castiel, to hunt those angels and strike them down."

There is a weighty pause. Lucifer knows what he is asking. He also, quite plainly, does not care.

And Castiel is finding it increasingly hard to mind.

"I will begin immediately."

Lucifer brushed the shoulder of the lesser angel, fleetingly. His Grace shines brighter than the rising sun. "Good luck, Little Brother."

And Castiel flies.

* * *

_The Eveningstar is on the move, _the angels whisper in Heaven. _The Eveningstar is coming, the Eveninstar is hunting - _

Heaven knows of him, now, the renegade angel who fought for the humans, the renegade Eveninstar who was Lucifer's shadow in the Beginning and who flies with the Dragon again. _His wings are as the devil's, _they whisper, _his Grace is dark and corrupt and strong and the demons bow before him, the new Prince of Hell - beloved of the Devil - He is coming for us - He is coming for you - _

- _He is coming -_


	5. Woe to the Idle Shepherd

**A/N: Soooo sorry for the wait; my laptop has been busted and I hate writing in front of people, where the house computer is... Just got a new one, so hopefully I should be able to start churning out more chapters. Although the new writing program sucks, and I want to brutally murder Windows 8, so, we'll see.**

** On a happier note, I was at a used book sale yesterday at the local library and picked up 'A Dictionary of Angels (including the fallen angels)', which made me ridiculously excited. Surprisingly, it actually does have Castiel listed, but he only gets one line. And, dang, the devil has a lot of names. Except now I want to revise some of my stories. It says Lucifer being identified with Satan was a translation error? He had twelve wings? His original name was Sataniel? Bleh. **

** Thanks to all reviewers! And thank you everyone for your patience. And now, on to the fic...**

* * *

_Woe to the idol shepherd that leaveth the flock! the sword [shall be] upon his arm, and upon his right eye: his arm shall be clean dried up, and his right eye shall be utterly darkened._

_ -Zachariah 11:17_

* * *

Heaven had been a happy place, once.

Long ago - _before the humans, _whisper some - Heaven had been a paradise of its own, in a way. Sure, it was a little empty, as Lucifer and Castiel had always said, but it was a peaceful sort of blankness. Not a hospital-sterility or morgue-silence, but a meditative day in the park, a rocking boat in the middle of the deep sea. When one wanted to explore, the angels would fly to the far edges of Creation, flying through space and time and wheeling around stars in their slow, slow orbit as millenia slipped away.

Then there was Earth, which was even better, an ever-changing mystery and adventure. A tiny utopia...

Until the humans came.

Every angel remembers that sweet, sweet time before the Fall, and even the most faithful will admit to missing it.

And, well, they aren't very many Faithful left.

* * *

Castiel kills six angels in one week.

Some flee; he doesn't try too hard to stop them. He tells himself that it is a matter of philosophy. Lucifer is Just, he thinks. Lucifer will not kill angels who bar his way to the future. Why should Castiel?

* * *

"You realize," says Sam, "That we don't trust the angels, and we're counting on the potential help of an antichrist?"

"That's life, Sam," Dean retorts breezily, flipping off a driver who cuts in front of them.

"Our life. Who the hell decided we deserved this shit?"

"If Cas - " Dean's lips tighten, "is to be believed - God."

Sam is quiet a moment. "...I'm pretty sure Cas isn't much of a believer in God these days, Dean."

Dean can't really respond to that. So he doesn't.

They drive the next hour in silence.

* * *

Before the humans came, Lucifer taught Castiel how to swim.

"I do not understand why this skill is necessary, Brother!" Castiel had protested after Lucifer had cajoled him to Earth. "I can fly, or if necessary simply move water away. Why should I learn to swim?"

"It's _relaxing, _Castiel, and pleasant. Besides, what if your wings or Grace are injured in battle? Last time you fell to Earth against the Leviathon it was actually quite fortunate that you fell on land; most the Earth is water, you know. You really should learn this skill eventually."

"It seems a wasteful pursuit."

"Gabriel swims all the time," Lucifer wheedled.

"Gabriel also finds it amusing to teach parrots derogatory language."

Lucifer paused to consider an argument to that, and couldn't really find one. "It is not such a great thing to ask," Lucifer said instead. "I am certain you will see the value after you learn."

Castiel hesitated; then his wings ruffled ruefully. He has never, really, been able to say no to Lucifer. "Very well, Brother. It is not a painful process, is it?"

A laugh. "No, Castiel. This is not training. And I would never ask you to do anything dangerous."

* * *

"What you have to understand," Lucifer instructs, "is how to cause the strongest, _freshest _pain. Sometimes psychological damage is even better, but you can't keep using the same methods. Their bodies will just go numb eventually, and that's no fun at all."

Castiel looks at the two strung before him. "Should I not be hunting angels, Brother?" he asks, hesitantly.

"You need to learn this eventually, Castiel." The devil tells him impatiently. A whip is pressed into Castiel's hand. "Let's start with the human, shall we?"

So Lucifer leads Castiel past the bound angel (_Teraniel, _Castiel's mind supplies automatically, Teraniel whom Castiel patrolled with a thousand years ago) and they stop in front of a mundanely-bound man, whose eyes are wide and terrified.

"The first lesson," says Lucifer. "When you cause pain, you have to _mean _it."

And the screams begin.

* * *

Bobby does what he can. He truly, sincerely does. Even wheelchair bound he's more than useful. He's on the phone constantly, getting information from hunters and warning everyone of the apocalypse and Lucifer's newest acquisition, handing out instructions to anti-angel wards like candy on Halloween. The hunters are quick to demand more information, and Bobby's ready and willing to provide - anything to help in the war, with his two boys on the line.

When he's called every number he can think of Bobby hits the books. Summoning Castiel would attract Lucifer's attention. Summoning Lucifer would be suicide. So, Bobby just needs to... well. Find a way to kill the devil.

...He loves those boys, honest, but his life was so much easier before the Winchesters came along.

* * *

The home is, at first glance, perfectly normal. Eerily so, in fact, when Dean looks at the printout map Sam had found, with its highlighted house and that one word, _antichrist, _scrawled incongruously across the top, because Sam is organized like that.

_Jesse. _His name is Jesse. The greatest hope for the future is an eleven year old kid who does slightly below-average in school, from what Sam has found, and plays outfield in the local Little-League. His adopted parents are perfectly normal people, a teacher and an accountant, and neither of them are lawbreakers or drunks or anything. _Apple-pie life, _Dean thinks, and has to hate himself a little. _Now with a side of devil's cake._

The Impala rumbles to a halt in front of a neat green lawn with a row of even, bright roses. Sam already looks both hopeful and resigned, eyes sad, mouth twitching in a way that forebodes protest. Sure enough;

"Dean, do you – I mean, are we doing the right thing, here? He's just a kid – "

"There are a lot of kids in the world." Dean doesn't look at his brother. "Everything goes right, they all live – this Jesse guy included. We walk away, they burn. Which sounds better to you, Sammy?"

Sam doesn't answer. But he opens the door and gets out, and after a short beat Dean follows.

Sam rings the doorbell. Dean half expects a huge, deep _boom _to resonate from inside, like something out of a horror movie, or some deep, sepulchrous church tones to echo, echo, echo. Instead there's just a little chime, bright and fleeting, and suddenly his stomach is twisting all over again.

Suddenly he wants to agree with Sam, just leave, abandon this too-perfect home and the oblivious demon-child, but it's too late. The door opens.

"Can I help you?"

A middle-aged woman, sandy-blonde, with age-worn creases and smile-lines wearing down her face. It's a pleasant, peaceful sort of age, the kind accompanied by years of quiet afternoons and soft happiness, and Dean tries to imagine her facing down demons and fails. Tries to imagine her with an absent son, a dead son, and for the twelfth time that day curses God in whatever hole he'd squirreled away in.

"Local police, ma'am. We need to talk to your son."

"Jesse?" Honest surprise. "Why?"

"That's, uh, classified, ma'am." An irritated look from Sam says Dean is going a little too far; right, classified would be more military, CSI, FBI – "that is, we're keeping things quiet for now – but he's not in any trouble, I promise."

" – Well – " She hesitates. "Alright. One minute..."

Moments later they're seated on an uncomfortably homey couch, a puzzled and slightly suspicious pre-teen in front of them, doors shut. Dean senses the parents sitting just outside the doors. Doesn't matter; Dean can tell at a glance that they're too thick to hear through.

"Jesse," Sam starts, carefully. "This is going to sound – a little bizarre. Just bear with me, okay? Have you ever experienced anything, well strange?"

"… Strange?"

"Ah, unusual… supernatural, maybe? Super-human? Odd thoughts or visions, things seeming to move when you think of them…"

"…No."

"Perhaps you hear things – dark things, maybe, or singing…"

Dean grimaced at his brother's awkward guesses. The guy was an _antichrist, _not one of Yellow-Eyes' demon kids, Jesus.

"This sounds like the set-up to a bad hero movie," says Jesse. "This isn't a superhero thing, is it? Am I being punk'd?"

"…Um," says Sam.

"You're the antichrist," Dean deadpans.

Because, seriously, no amount of leading will ever make that statement acceptable.

"Points for originality," Jesse decides. "Can I go now?"

* * *

"They... _lost _the antichrist?" Castiel questions, dubious.

""I created demons for convenience," Lucifer explains. "They were never meant to be intelligent."

"The antichrist is meant to be one of the greatest weapons against Heaven."

"But he also has the potential to be one of the greatest weapons against _me," _Lucifer says, aggravated. "Even if he agreed to join us, he's a child – a flawed, human child, with human whims and deception." The devil, bemoaning deception; even Castiel can appreciate the irony. "He's too dangerous; he must be eliminated."

Castiel waits.

"I need you to kill him – preferably before he talks to the Winchesters."

Castiel blinks. "How could I kill the antichrist?"

"He should not yet be aware of his full potential. Bluff him."

* * *

That day people from around the world blink and stare at the sky in confusion as it ripples and glows and sparks. In the United States the lights are barely visible under the sun, but in dark parts of the world the traitor-angels stream down like a thousand falling stars, bright and fierce and deadly, vanishing from mortal sight before they hit the surface.

Lines have been drawn, and the war is official.

* * *

"Dude. Of course it's not the apocalypse. That's not until gas rises to _five _dollars a gallon, not four. I read so in a book somewhere. So we have at least, like, a year."

Sam had stopped looking sympathetic awhile back, and now seems to be contemplating suicide via the pointy wall-ornaments. Dean sympathizes with the feeling.

"This isn't a joke, kid."

"You know, you actually look serious," the kid starts, slowly. Dean straightens, hopeful. "Are you guys nuts? Did you _steal _those badges?You did, didn't you."

Dean sags back against the couch, and sighs. This guy, he decides, totally deserves the title of antichrist.

"You kinda look like perves," Jesse continues blithely.

"Excuse me?" Sam sputters.

"Dude. The _hair. _Seriously."

...Okay, Dean thinks. Maybe he's not so bad.

"This would be a lot easier to prove if we could summon an angel to show off," Sam mutters, and Dean suppresses a flare of anger. _Rubbing salt on the wound, Sammy._

But it does give him an idea.

"Oi! Crowley! We could use your help!"

Sam looks at him dubiously. Jesse, apparently resigned to putting up with two psychos awhile longer, just gives him the stink eye and picks up a magazine.

Crowley does not appear.

Dean scowls. "We're not in a fight or anything, dude, we just need to prove to Jesse what's going on!"

"And you called little old me?" A distinctly British voice drawled. "I'm _touched."_

Dean rolls his eyes – of course the guy wouldn't help in a fight. Typical. But his presence seems to help – Jesse is watching him with interest.

"Who're you?"

"Crowley, at your service." The demon, uncharacteristically respectful, bobs his head. "There's a certain _aura _around your house that most of my kind can't cross – or wouldn't dare to cross – but being _called _for changes everything. Truly an honor."

Jesse eyes him petulantly. "I don't get it."

Crowley settles himself next to Sam on the couch, blithely at ease, and smiles a sleazy, mock-sincere smile as he folds his hands into the expensive pockets of his new designer suit. "Come now, kid, can't you sense anything about me?"

Jesse stares at him. "Well, you're _definitely _into dudes, and you totally have a pedo-goatee going on. Is this going to get weird? Because, seriously, these guys might be talking about magic and levitation and shit, but I'm not stupid enough to play with your 'magic wand', okay?"

Okay, maybe Dean likes the kid. A _little._

Crowley seems to ignore the comment. Instead he deliberately leans back into his chair, smiling that same greasy smile, and lets his dark eyes slide right into blood-red. "I'm a demon."

Jesse... looks unimpressed.

"S'that all you got?"

Crowley deflates.

This could take awhile.

* * *

Dean really wants to shoot something. It can't be a sin to kill the antichrist, can it?

"Totally not buying it, dudes. And, seriously, if I go missing, there were _witnesses. _My parents would sue your asses, got it?"

"That will not be necessary."

Dean jerks to his feet.

Because there is Castiel, stubble-faced and worn and sharp-eyed, looking just like he had weeks ago before Lucifer had risen. Before he'd Fallen. Before he'd betrayed humanity.

"How'd you find us?" Dean asks hoarsely. Sam scrambles up beside him.

Castiel ignores him. Instead he turns to a wide-eyed Jesse. "Jesse Turner. I have come to bring you to my brother, the great dragon Lucifer. He bids you to join his cause. You do not yet realize your power, and will not be able to access it for many years, but you shall be richly rewarded nonetheless."

"What are you?" Jesse asks, already rapturous, like he knows _Castiel _can't possibly be lying.

Castiel, Dean recalls with a sinking feeling, has some of Lucifer's own grace. Can Jesse feel that? Does the antichrist sense a kindred spirit?

"I am Castiel," says their once-friend.

And behind him, behemoth black shapes rise, ephemeral and gleaming with soft silky shadows, wisps of moonlight that suck in the sun and exude Sin. They are wings, terrible, twisted perversions of wings, and for the very first time in his life Dean resists the urge to fucking cross himself like a priest.

"I am an angel of the devil."

"Wicked," Jesse breathes.

Dean's stomach sinks like a stone. He blurts it before he can think. "Do you want your family to die, Jesse?"

"What?"

Jesse snaps around, eyes filled with fury. Dean hurries on.

"They will, if you go with Cas. With Lucifer. They'll destroy earth. Hell on earth? That will be reality if you go with them. You're more powerful than the devil himself, and he knows it. But if you go with us, we can win this war, Jesse. We could win so easy. Heaven on earth. Or, fuck heaven, you could screw them too and leave earth to humans, don't change anything, go back to school and little league and playing with your friends like nothing happened. You can't do that if you go with Cas, Jesse." Dean's rambling, but he sort of can't stop. "They'll destroy all of it, I swear to God, they'll fuck you over, I've _seen _ Hell and you don't want that shit on earth - "

"Enough!" Castiel snaps. Dean and Sam gasp, and Crowley, cowering silently against a far chair, cringes and writhes at the shade of Grace tainting Castiel's voice, deep and high and piercing. Jesse just twists his head again to blink at them in plain confusion. "Jesse, chose."

Sam is shifting.

"I – I - " Jesse stares between the groups, wide-eyed and shocked and suddenly not at all sarcastic. He's just a damn kid, Dean thinks, just a fucking _kid..._

A drop of blood hits the ground.

"I can't - " Jesse's eyes turn to Castiel -

A hand smacks down. Flashing light.

And Castiel is gone.

Jesse gapes. Crowley gapes. Dean gapes.

Sam grins, and holds up a bloody palm.

"Angel wards apparently work on Fallen angels, too," he says brightly.

"I could _kiss _you," Dean swears fervently.

"Please don't."

Fair enough. Dean lunges at Crowley instead.

"Woah!" This, from Sam, more shocked even then the pale demon under Dean's special knife. "The fuck, Dean?"

"I would like to ask the same," Crowley chokes, wide-eyed. He is very, very careful not to move at all, and Dean feels the host's pulse fluttering against the side of his hand.

Dean presses down the blade until a glare of dark light shines from the skin. Crowley whooshes out a breathe, trying to make himself smaller. "What are you _doing?" _ He croaks.

"I wonder," Dean muses grimly, "how Castiel learned where the antichrist is. And isn't it a coincidence we dropped by on the same day?"

Crowley stares at Dean.

Then he vanishes.

"Motherfucker - !"

Dean falls onto the couch without Crowley's weight to press against, nicks himself with the knife, and curses again.

He rights himself, scowling. "We need to get out of here. _Now. _Before Cas comes back."

He turns around. Jesse is standing, tall and pale and defiant. Still, his voice trembles a little when he asks, "Where do we go?"

* * *

"I can't – well, okay, I can see Crowley betraying us," Sam concedes. "But he has to know that Lucifer will ditch him first chance he gets, so what does he gain from this?"

"Hedging his bets," Dean says darkly. "Lucifer gets Jesse, and Crowley has an in; we manage to get him, but don't find out about Crowley, Lucifer has a spy but we're still working with the guy... win-win."

Sam sighs. "I really don't like this, Dean, leaving him - "

"He's the antichrist. He'll be fine for a day, until we deal with the demons. You really want to take him through that?"

Sam just sighs again.

Dean and Sam meant to take Jesse and scram, honestly. But then Bobby called saying there were half a dozen demon sightings in the area, all gathered on the main road – the only road – out of Jesse's tiny town. Ten guesses to who set that up.

So with some fancy wordplay from Dean and Sam (and a weirdly cryptic antichrist, who was very good at convincing his parents of things, that being the one portion of his power most practiced) Jesse _and _his parents were holed up in a hotel at the opposite end of town, in a room surrounded with salt and armed with anti-angel sigils on every wall.

_It's only a few hours, _Dean thinks. They just need to clear out the demons first. What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

In the hotel, shadows stalk Jesse.

They whisper and crackle and moan and groan, rattle and hiss, and some take on the forms of serpents. Jesse tosses around salt haphazardly, smacks the angel sigils and watches the resulting bright crack of light so many times he's fearing a seizure, and they keep shifting, shifting, shifting -

The phones don't work; the door is locked. Jesse Convinces his parents to fall asleep, and they do, with tiny smiles on their faces and their shadows writhing and laughing behind them.

The Antichrist tosses bolts of crackling energy at every shadow, which dissipate harmlessly when each hits nothing.

Jesse could reach out with his power and seek the source that harasses him with lightning and whispering shapes, but he does not Believe this, and therefore the power does not exist.

Even abominations require sleep (when they believe they require sleep) and so Jesse, huddled against the wall on the stained hotel floor, eventually can't resist allowing his head to sink against his own thin chest, slipping into a fitful doze. And that, naturally, is when Castiel arrives.

A sword flashes. In a whisper of wings the place is empty again, a child's glazed eyes staring blankly as blood dribbles down onto cheap carpet.

And so one of the greatest hopes for saving the known world is ended in an anonymous hotel room, quietly and without fuss, as oblivious life thrums on around them.

* * *

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